#steal her poem and turn it into a great song

[ssouhekii]

wᵢₜₕ ₜₕₑₘ ° . * . ● ☆ • ° .

ᶠᵉᵐ!ᶠʸᵒᵈᵒʳ, ᶠᵉᵐ!ⁿⁱᵏᵒˡᵃⁱ, & ᶠᵉᵐ!ˢʰⁱᵇᵘˢᵃʷᵃ ˣ ᵍⁿ!ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ʰᶜˢ

warnings: none

a/n: I tried to find the most accurate feminine version of each name. i wasn't sure whether to turn nicole's surname into a feminine version or not, because of the debate about gogol being ukrainian or russian. i kept the surname the same, so sorry if it's inaccurate. not proofread!

Feodora Dostoevskaya

- Her chief love language is acts of service, though these acts could border on terrifying if you weren't the one recieving the favors.

- You'd never doubt that she loves you, though, because to commit a crime for someone is the ultimate act of love.

- You think.

- She'll take care of any major inconvenience for you without you even mentioning it to her.

- If someone had stolen your identity, she'd find them, steal their identity back, and take you on a shopping spree.

- She has eyes everywhere, so never try to hide something that's burdening you. She'll figure it out, and help you fix it anyways.

- Feodora has never known how to express herself truthfully all that well. She may not be able to write a searingly beautiful love poem to the one she loves most, or show them a boombox below their bedroom window and blast a song to declare her love, but she can do other things.

- Her other favorite thing to do for you is play music. Nothing makes dear Feodora happier than seeing you in her audience, big or small, for the cello.

- Aside from cello, she can also play the piano and the harp.

- Feodora mostly plays classical music. However, she'd maybe be convinced to learn a pop or rock song for you. Only for you, though.

- She's also a great listener. She'd love to hear anything you have to say, losing her analytical skills as she gets lost in your voice.

- The only thing that the genius "demon" of the Decay can't figure out is how to stop biting her nails.

- Luckily, you're there to help, buying her press ons or even very short acrylics to stop her biting.

- Unfortunately, rats have very strong teeth. She appreciates the effort, and does her best to stop, though.

Nicole Gogol

- Nicole's chief love language is gifts.

- Whenever she sees you, she'll bring you something. It may be small, just a rock she found or a deck of cards, or it may be huge.

- Like, she-snuck-a-car-into-her-overcoat-large.

- The types of gifts will depend on how you react to them.

- If you get easily freaked out, she'd love to bring you someone's eyeball from her escapades for halloween, or matching lockets with both of your hair for your birthday.

- You're still not sure how she got your hair, and she won't tell you. A magician never reveals her secrets.

- However, if you're not all that squeamish, she'll surprise you in other ways.

- Have you ever seen an albino cat? A two-headed snake? A three-eyed fish? Have you?

- She'll take strange things from any circuses or shows she's travelled with, either to give or just to show you.

- Of course, she wanted to give you all the two headed animals, but you said there wasn't enough space in the house.

- You may serve as the voice of reason in the relationship, but Nicole has smarts of her own.

- She loves to read philosophy books with you, and ramble about her own theories.

- Even if you don't understand, she's glad you listen.

- Nicole loves to put on little magic shows, just for you.

- You've seen every attemptible trick in the book, and you wouldn't hesitate to see any of them again.

- Nicole moves so smoothly when she performs her tricks, and performs them so delicately that you're reminded of how much she cherishes you.

- She wouldn't do any of this for anyone else.

- Occasionally you even get to play assistant to Nicole, watching doves flit away while her arm wraps around you and holds you tight.

- You're always in the audience for dangerous tricks, though. She doesn't think she could bear to see you hurt.

- By the way, Nicole is really strong. Really, really strong. When she works out in the mornings, you often serve as a weight for her push ups.

Tatsumi Shibusawa

- Tatsumi's chief love language just has to be words of affirmation.

- Though she'll shower you with gifts and pay unending attention to you. her favorite thing is to compliment you.

- You are, after all, more amazing than any jewel she's ever seen.

- She loves to show off and impress you. Tatsumi is very vain, so seeing your eyes on her in wonder puts her on top of the world.

- She often tailors clothes for you. She knows your measurements by heart, and many visits to her have been accompanied by a gasp of surprise at a whole outfit completely unprompted.

- Speaking of which, you can expect to wear lots of matching clothes now.

- Whenever you go out, you're often matching. If not a full outfit, you both at least have silver necklaces on.

- Though cold, Tatsumi is a very sentimental person. She will keep anything you give her, and even a paper heart will recieve the same care as one of her crystals.

[mega-punani]

Hello hello!! I really love your writing and your art sm!! <33 I gotta say I'm all in for the romantic feels asks but platonic dynamics have a special place in my heart so- got any headcanons for the pirate au boys with a little sister medic/healer crewmate? Like the passive sweetie in the background that makes sure everyone's okay and her worry about everyone rivals that of edge yk? Ty! ^w^

RAHHH THANK U!!! I TRY MY BEST EVERY DAY!

Worried Medic Younger Sibling Y/N!:

Sans: Oh great, yet another sibling to spend sleepless nights worrying about... All jokes, Sans loves them to bits, and he is so incredibly grateful that they would go out of their way to fret over him and take care of him. He had just grown so used to hiding his weaknesses, for Pap's sake. But now, he finally had someone who took care of him like he does everyone else. Even if he's gonna crack cringey puns along the way. He'll let out a low chuckle every time they tell him to shut it. Papyrus: He's so touched! As much as he hates to make them worry, a part of him always cries when Y/N rushes up to him with a concerned expression and a medkit. Although Sans practically raised him, he could never feel good actually pouring all his concerns out to his stressed older brother. But his wonderful, amazing, talented sibling is the beam of sunshine he never knew he needed. Blue: NOOOOO NOT ANOTHER EDGE! Blue is sprinting the moment they approach him with a medkit. He always hated the doctor, and you are telling him that his beloved younger sibling is one of those apple-repelled freaks? With great effort, running, screaming, and other crewmates' help, Y/N will be patching up Blue with an iron grip on his skull. He'll whine, but he really is glad that they are willing to put up with his goofs. He will give you a big hug when he's all better and then jump straight into the fray like they didn't just spend 2 hours getting him fixed up.

Stretch: Literally the definition of the annoying older brother. Will come into the medical bay just to knock something off of the table and then turn off the lights, leaving Y/N in the dark. He'll say jokes and puns until someone shoves gauze in his mouth and will not stop bothering you. He has his moments and is a great shoulder to lean on when times are rough. And it's not like the teasing is one-sided! Y/N had seen their fair share of romance poems and songs that Stretch swore he had stashed away. Too bad Cash will do about anything for 3G.

Red: Annoying older brother #2 except he's the type to air punch you and profusely apologize if he accidentally hits you. He rolls his eyelights every time they scold him, sprinkling a few "Who are you, Edge?" and "Big words for such a short guy." He will be relentless when it comes to goofing off. One moment he's your partner in crime, another moment, he is giving you a noogie for being in his business.

Edge: It's like a nagging cycle. Y/N will fret over Edge triggering him to start analyzing you, and then it's just Y/N's sweet concern and Edge's masked care repeated into infinity. Of course, he can't help but cherish the feeling of being so looked after. Even if he feels like it is his duty to look after his younger sibling. He will give them a rare smile, just glad that they love him enough to try, even if he was as stubborn as a mule.

Razz: He's already covering his earholes the moment Y/N enters his navigation status chamber of a room. He groans and grumbles while they place some much-needed food on his desk, blocking his view of his book. But of course, he will never actually yell or rage at his kind younger sibling, although that was the only thing he knew best. He won't say a thank you, but just know that he is so giddy that his sibling is being so thoughtful. You can tell from the warm breeze and the pretty clouds.

Cash: Steals. Everything. He thinks it is the FUNNIEST thing in the world to bother the soul out of his siblings, and his poor younger sibling Y/N. So sweet, so kind, so... EASY TO STEAL FROM! The food they were saving for later? Gone. The little candy jar that they use to give to the crew after checkups? Vanished. Y/N's favorite jacket that doesn't even fit him? Wow, he actually looks really good in it- NO HE'S STRETCHING THE FABRIC. He thinks it's so incredibly rejuvenating when Y/N chases him around. Of course, doesn't last long cause that smoker is already heaving for breath. Bear: Being a sibling is the only way that Bear will not feel nervous about touching Y/N. Of course, he will make sure not to pat to hard or shake them around, but he will be more willing to throw Y/N around if he thinks that they are in danger. He will protect just as fiercely as Y/N would, and he is just so happy to be surrounded by that familial warmth he was never allowed to enjoy. Expect big thank-you meals every time he gets patched up. Cinnamon: He knows that Y/N worries for him sometimes, and he can't help but feel guilty. There are so many things that are wrong with him, and it seems like they visit him every day when he has yet another issue with his eyes or teeth. But every time he is reassured. Perhaps that is why he finds his sibling so wonderful. Because no matter how terrible he feels Y/N will always patch him up and give him a big hug. Having such a caring younger sibling had inspired him to be the best big bro!

[maxverstappensflatbrim]

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [2]

chapter two, act one: antichrist

May 29th 2010

"You've what?"

"Changed the name of the band."

Comes the reply over the phone, "Why?"

Adam sighs on the other end, "Not sure, think Matty's going through an existential crisis again."

She snorts, "When is he not?"

She twirls the pen in her hand as she leans back, and lifts her feet to rest on her desk, "What's the name?"

"Uh, 19- sorry, the 1975."

She starts laughing, holding a hand to her mouth to hold it back, but the smile can be seen from miles away.

"He's very specific about the."

"Yeah?"

Adam hums, "Is it some kind of inside joke?" He asks, "Your tattoos? I don't get it, he won't tell anyone."

"Our little secret, Ads."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm just glad I don't have to describe to girls why we're called Drive Like I Do, anymore."

"What girls?" She teases and she hears him laugh sarcastically on the other end.

It's silent for a few moments, and she picks at a string on her cardigan, "We've got another gig lined up."

"Really?"

"Yeah, a few, you gonna come up soon?"

She sighs, "I don't know, Ads, maybe."

"Matty uh, he bought your book yesterday. Was pissed I got a free one and he didn't."

She scoffs, "Didn't want him stealing my stuff again."

Adam laughs too, "It's great, Tommie, really. You're an amazing writer, you should do something with that."

"Maybe."

"No, you should." He says firmly.

She glances to the side, the little book sitting there staring at her, 75 pages of her own work. Her writing, her words, her poetry.

"Has he, uh, has he read it?"

"About a hundred times."

"Really?"

Adam hums, "We all have. It's good, Tommie." He hesitates a second, then adds, "Song worthy, band worthy."

"I'm not-"

"Yeah, I know. Thought I'd try again."

She wants to get off topic now, and talk about something other than her work. The thought of Matty reading it, understanding it, makes a red blush rise up her neck and across her cheeks.

"Did you hear what Nan and Granch are doing?"

"No." She can imagine his furrowed brows and confused tilted head, one that makes him look so much like their grandfather.

"Moving to France, or Spain, they haven't decided."

Adam laughs, "A place in the sun?"

"All the time, I can't come downstairs and see it on tele anymore, I'm going crazy, If it's not that it's an antique roadshow making him think he can become some sort of pawnbroker."

Adam chuckles again, "I think he's bored."

"I know, being retired doesn't suit him, he's trying to convince Nan to retire but she's still got four years before she's old enough."

"Doubt she will either, she loves her little break from him once a day."

"How is it over there?" He asks then, "At the McDuff household?"

"Great, actually, great."

"Tommie?"

She hums, moving her position so her feet are back on the floor, going back to staring at her notes for her English class, "How's things at the Fern household?"

"Well, dad's pissed he lost the custody battle. But, he did turn up to court drunk four times, so... that's his own fault."

"He seen you?"

"He asked me to go to dinner with him three weeks ago, still waiting for him to pick me up."

"What time was he supposed to be there?" Adam asks.

"Three weeks ago." She repeats slowly.

She hears him sighs, can imagine the pity falling off of him, "Tommie-"

She cuts him off quickly, not wanting the pity, "Nan's calling me, think dinner is ready, I'll call you monday when I get more credit."

"Okay, bye, Tommie."

"Bye, Ad."

Adam turns away as he hangs up, opening up the door again to step back inside Matty's place. Despite the early hour, seven thirty, both Ross and George are passed out on a sofa each. Matty's curled up on the beanbag he'd brought down from his bedroom, book in hand, glasses on, leaving the armchair open to Adam.

"She okay?"

"Yeah, revising for exams."

Matty nods, not tearing his eyes away from the page, "What do you think she means by 'watch my inane tears'?"

Adam looks up, "What?"

"In her one poem, she's written, 'the consequential ignorance, as you watch my inane tears', what do you think she means by that?"

"You know, if there was a poem in there about you, she'd have told me."

Matty closes the book, sending him something between a glare and an embarrassed look, "That's not what I'm trying to find out. I-"

He sighs looking away, "Your cousin is a very private person. She only reveals things she wants to, and I'm very nosy." The other boy just raises a brow slowly, "I'm trying to understand how her mind works, she's- so, I don't know, her mind is just- amazing."

"But," Matty asks, "What do you think she means?"

"Which poem is it?"

"The art of eye contact."

Adam remembers their conversation where she talked about it, "It's about her father, ignoring her and moving on to the next child. So, I guess she means like- I don't know." Adam shakes his head then looks at Matty, "But I have a feeling you think you do?"

"Well, I had to use a dictionary, no idea what inane means, or how to pronounce it. But according to the dictionary, it means, 'lacking sense'." Matty sighs, "I think it's her saying that her tears are worthless because they make no sense, she's been holding them back for so long at this point she's crying over things she doesn't need to cry over."

He looks up at Adam, "Is she okay? When you talked to her?"

"She's fine, Matty."

"Really?"

"Yup."

He nods, then he looks down at the page again watching his scruffy handwriting in blue ink beside the printed words as he reads the poem over and over until it's engraved in his head.

, by Tommie McDuff

-poem has been removed for ‘real life’ reasons-

(poetry competitions lol)

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June 3rd 2010

Sixteen.

She thought maybe it would feel different but as she rolls over, noticing the yellow post-it note that's been placed on her pillow she sighs.

Happy Birthday, sweetheart. Working late tonight, see you then x

As she scrumples the paper up and tosses it into the plastic bin beneath her desk she lays back down in bed.

She thought being sixteen would be different, thought being sixteen would make her mother try and stay around for a birthday.

She sighs then checks the time, eight-thirty. She doesn't have an exam today, next one is on the eight, history and maths. She hates maths.

Hearing her grandfather tottering around downstairs forces her up, she smiles when her foot hits something and recognises her nans terrible wrapping skills lying at the bottom of her bed.

When she unwraps it she smiles at the soft fabric. A little knitted green cardigan lays inside and she lifts it up.

Her nan's been really into knitting lately, reading books on it until she perfects the little thing.

Tommie had asked for a new cardigan, the one she'd bought got caught on a door at school and ripped, she'd been heartbroken. It was her nannie's, the only thing she'd had of her after she died.

She pulls on some grey sweats, an old Stereophonics t-shirt then her new green cardigan over the top and heads downstairs quickly.

"Morning."

The dog, Taffie, is the first to greet her, the little Jack Russell that's still like a puppy despite her age of fourteen.

She leans down to pat the dog's side, smiling as she turns to lick at her hand.

"Good morning."

She stands quickly turning to the settee, "Hey."

"Cute slippers."

She rolls her eyes, looking down at the little cow slippers on her feet, "What are you doing here?"

Matty grins, looking up as her nan walks in with a cup of tea in her hands, "There you go, Matty."

"Thanks, Mag."

She settles beside him and then notices her granddaughter, "Tommie, happy birthday."

She gets back up to kiss her on the cheek and she smiles, "Thank you, and thanks for my present."

"Granch has got some pancakes on."

She goes back out into the kitchen with a promise of a cup of tea for her and then Tommie goes back to looking at Matty.

"Happy birthday, Tommie."

She smiles sitting beside him, "Thank you. But seriously, what are you doing here?"

"Fulfilling my life goal."

She rolls her eyes a little and shakes her head, "Matty..."

"What?" He shrugs a little avoiding her burning gaze.

She plays with the sleeves of her new cardigan, "It's four hours here from Manchester, and it's only nine."

"Actually, it's three hours and fifteen minutes, and I've been here since eight."

"Matty."

He shrugs, "I couldn't sleep, then I thought to myself, 'Wow my amazingly talented and funny best friend has her birthday today, I should go see her'."

"Thank you," She says again, "But you didn't have to."

"But, I wanted to-"

"Breakfast for the birthday girl."

She smiles at her grandfather as he walks in, he places a kiss on her forehead, "Happy birthday, my little flower."

"Thanks, Granch."

As he hands her the plate he checks his watch, "Oh shit, I've got to go. Late to go to the station."

He kisses her head once more, "Happy birthday."

"See you tonight."

"Tomorrow," He says as he leaves, "I've got to pick up a night shift."

Her nan shakes her head, "He's supposed to be retired. Always running off to 'look after' the engines."

Her nan sticks around until lunchtime, pestering both her and Matty to make sure they eat something before she leaves for her shift at work.

"What do you usually do on your birthday?"

"Sit around, watch tele, eat, cry, eat, watch more tele, eat."

He groans loudly, "Right, get up, put some actual trousers on, and some suitable footwear, we're going out."

"Out? Where, you've been here twice before. And got lost trying to find ASDA."

"I've been researching."

"You asked, Adam?"

He blinks at her slowly, "Get dressed."

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"Gonna tell me where we're going?"

He sighs, fingers drumming the wheel, "I have to, I have no idea where I'm going." She chuckles, "I was going to take you to that ice cream place, in Brecon."

She smiles to herself, "Third exit on this roundabout."

She turns back to look at him then with a smile, "You're taking me for ice cream."

He nods, looking over at her with his own little smile, "Gonna make it the best birthday ever."

"No need," She says, leaning forward to mess around with the radio, "Already is."

"We haven't done anything yet."

She shrugs, "You're here, I've left the house and we're on our way to get ice cream," She turns back to look at him as Katy Perry fills the car, "It's already the best birthday I've ever had."

His smile only gets bigger as he keeps driving forward, taking in the beacons and the sunlight peeking through the trees as they go.

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"Where are we going?"

She laughs and keeps running, dragging him behind her through the field until finally, they stop, she turns walking backward then falls flat on her back.

He chuckles, walking closer, "What are you doing?"

"I used to do this as a kid with Granch, star gaze. He's a big constellation freak. Come here."

He sits beside her then slowly leans back into the grass, "Bet you've never seen stars like this, Healy, huh?"

He tilts his head, "They're so much brighter."

"That's 'cause the street lights in the city put all the stars to death."

"Wow." He chuckles and she turns to look at him, "How poetic of you."

"Shut up, it's true."

He sighs looking up, "Okay, what are the constellations?"

She snorts, "I don't know, never really paid much attention."

He tilts his head, "That one looks like a blunt."

She snorts, "You're such a junkie."

"A junkie wanna-be, baby."

She scoffs, "A sycophantic junkie."

He raises a brow, tilting his head down to look at her, "Really? Sycophantic? Thought I'd at least be like prophetic level."

"Since when could you see the future?"

He turns fully onto his side, "I can predict the future."

"Go on then, read me, Healy."

He closes his eyes, hovering his hand over her face and she giggles, he peeks one eye open to look down at her, "Shh, I need to concentrate."

She purses her lips, looking up at him as he closes his eyes again, his curly dark hair falling across his forehead causing him to try and blow it up out of the way.

"I see... a band-" She pushes his hand out the way but he fights back to keep it there, "And- an album. Loads of money, big houses, parties, celebrities, red carpets-"

"Wow, like living an actual nightmare."

He opens his eyes now, "You wouldn't want that?"

She shakes her head, "Not for me. I'd rather have enough money to get by and live in a little house with a dog or two alone, for the rest of my life."

"That's a sad life." She shrugs her shoulders, closes her eyes, and lays down again.

Matty sighs, shifting a little. He's the opposite of her, never one for silence whereas she thrives in it.

"What would your superpower be?"

"Um..." She sighs, brows furrowed and eyes still closed.

"Reading minds."

"Boring."

She elbows him in the rib and he dramatically cries out, rubbing the area, "Why is that boring?"

"It's such a basic answer."

"You don't even know why."

"Okay," He nods, turning to her, raising his one eyebrow in a challenging way, "Why?"

She flicks his forehead, "So I could see what's going on in there." He catches her wrist moving her hand away.

He shakes his head laughing and she laughs too, moving up onto her elbows, "What? I'd love to see inside your mind."

"Why? It's a scary place."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. But so I could see how you come up with your songs,. Like Lost Boys, ooh, and sex, where'd that one come from? I know for a fact little Matthew Healy never asked anyone to meet them in the back of his van."

"I did, actually."

"Lies." She calls him out immediately, then giggles to herself, "You sound like a paedo in that song."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome."

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Matty stops the car, pulling up the handbrake then looking over at her with a huge smile. "Home."

"Thank you." She says sincerely as she shrugs off the seatbelt.

"Happy Birthday, Tommie."

"Uh, you wanna stay? I can set up the spare room, it's in the attic and a little creepy but I'm not staying in there, so it'll have to do."

He chuckles, watching her pick at a string on her jeans, "I'm okay, I've got to get back anyway."

"This late?" She asks, she glances at the little watch on her wrist, brows furrowed and he chuckles at her confusion.

"Two twenty."

"At twenty past two in the morning? You've been here since early this morning, Matty, surely that's not healthy."

"I'll be fine."

"Healy."

He grabs her hands that pick at her thumb and squeezes it, "I've gone longer and further with no sleep, at least I've had a couple of hours."

She sighs, knowing he's too stubborn and she won't win. Nodding her head she opens her door and smiles as she leans down but he jumps up, unbuckling his seatbelt, "Wait, wait..."

He runs around to the back of the car, opening up the boot and calling her over. He takes a big case out and hands it to her but she hesitates, "Matt..."

"Happy Birthday."

"I-"

"Just open it, please."

She unzips the bag slowly gripping the guitar by the neck and then looks up to him. That adorable pout and head tilts of hers staring up at him.

"Matt."

"It's the one Alex Turner plays."

"I know." She smiles and nods quickly, looking down at the Fender Stratocaster in her hands. It's a dark green colour, her favourite.

She rubs her fingers over the colouring, plucking a few strings, briefly playing what he recognizes as a tune of crying lightning.

"I can't-"

"You can, it's a birthday present, can't give them back."

"It's too expensive."

"It's not just from me, it's from all of us."

Her shoulders drop quickly, "Is this some kind of ploy to get me in the band?"

"No, I think it was Adam's idea to get you to stop stealing his when you're over."

She looks down at the guitar again, she turns and sits on the edge of the boot, resting it on her thigh, "Play me something." He requests, hands in his pockets as he leans against the side of his car.

"What?"

"Anything."

She thinks for a moment, hands moving as she plays around, plucking a few strings here and there.

She finds herself doing a favourite of hers, C'est la vie by Stereophincs, she hums the lyrics a little as she goes on.

"See? Natural." He says.

After putting it back in the case, swinging it over her shoulder and looking up at him she smiles once more up at him.

A big toothy smile that has the corner of her eyes crinkling and cheeks tinting red in the cold air of the night.

"Thank you, Matty."

He nods hands still in his pockets as he turns away from his now closed boot, "Happy birthday, Tommie. Did I do it?" She raises a brow, asking him to explain, "Prove birthdays can be good."

She shrugs, "Not really." His whole demeanour changes, shoulders sagging and his smile falls. "Everyday with you is like this. Fun, adventurous, happy..."

His head lifts again, and he lifts a hand quickly to wipe away the curly dark hair that has fallen across his forehead.

She steps closer, lifting up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, "Thank you."

He nods, watching her step back again before turning to go into her house. As he gets in he doesn't see her turn back to watch him drive away. Or hear her mutter warnings to herself about having a crush on her cousin's best friend.

Who not only lives three hours away but is a good few years older too.

"Stop it, Tommie," She says, quietly closing the door, "He's your friend."

~thanks for reading! x

[sometimeswritingsometimesdying]

hcs about music and the island dads and their kids bc i am currently experiencing brainrot

x. linus used to play guitar as a kid. he wasn’t great at it, but he liked it, and he’d steal away half an hour a week to play around with the old, beaten up one they had in their public high school. he learnt all his favorite songs on it, mostly by ear, but never had the ability to practice at home. he mentions it to arthur at some point, and they magically find one back in the attic. 

x. arthur loves piano. he has the fingers for it, of course, and there’s nothing like a good jazz piano tune to pair with a philosophy book, but he also loves the expressiveness that some pianists put into their performances. when he was a young man, 20s-30s i’d say, and he didn’t live on the island yet, i like to hc he snuck into a few performances or practices for some great modern composers. 

x. lucy sees linus trying to tune the guitar and decides instantly he Must Learn How To Play alongside him. they buy a beginner’s guitar player book and start learning chords and songs together. lucy, turns out, has a great singing voice to pair with it. 

x. at some point, sal brings up the idea that maybe he could have lucy put one of his poems to music. lucy is absolutely honored, obviously. linus and arthur are in the background crying because omg their children have grown and healed so much

x. phee definitely learns how to make nature dance around her. she takes up doing it when she’s upset, and never really stops. zoe joins in sometimes, and the swaying of the branches, buzzing of bees, and soft sea breeze bring happiness all around the island.

x. talia would be amazing on drums. that’s all. she could wack them as good as she wacks people.

x. chauncey and theodore, albeit not incredibly gifted with musical instruments due to the lack of opposable thumbs, are the BEST hypemen whenever lucy wants to present a song during a lesson. cheerleading? they got u. posters, banners, and badly made t shirts? DONE. lucy isnt even making his own music, but its the thought that counts.

(yes the t shirts would just say hey yeah! music! in squiggly handwriting, instead of hell yeah, because arthur vetoed it)

x. linus and arthur actually learn how to dance instead of just swaying together; waltzing late at night in arthur’s study or the library, soft, stumbly back and forth dances in the kitchen while cooking breakfast, linus dipping arthur on the porch as the sun sets because he just felt like it and kissing the shit out of him. and, of course, the bad renditions of those dances by the children making fun of them.

x. no one expects it, but sal’s teenagehood turns out to be a big rock music phase. he never showcases it on the outside but his room slowly gets decorated with posters and cds of his favorite artists and bands. lucy and linus are over the moon about getting to add a third to their music shop escapades. sal mostly likes the music because he relates to the anger/hurt/ect of the lyrics, and it’s great to drown out any other noise in case it gets too much for him.

[foulbearobservation]

lilith, who has a preternatural sense for when she’s going to have nightmares. or not so much that as a certain fragility that comes over her as she moves her little character around the farm in stardew valley, listening to ava’s laugh and watching bea’s face scrunch up in concentration and feeling cam’s hand on her neck as she passes by.

a feeling like she’s breaking. and lilith knows that she’ll lurch violently out of sleep with the scalding heat of thumbs pressing into her eyes, lungs choking on the desert-dry air of hell or some place too close to hell.

she’ll wake with a feeling like she’s suspended, impaled, mouth full of blood & ava staring up at her, afraid. lilith not sure if it’s the tarask or her that makes ava so frightened. dead moments - the past still alive in her body. ava, afraid, and the others far away.

these girls she loves, now, & how they’ll be wrapped up together with bea muttering in her sleep and cam with her mouth upturned and inches from ava’s neck. she doesn’t want to wake in all their arms with death in her mouth so she takes herself away to the single bed in a room by itself. makes a nest of ava’s hoodie & soft blankets and a book of poetry bea got her and a mug of cam’s revolting tea.

falls asleep and the nightmares come. of course it wakes the others, her screaming. bea & cam and ava, less quickly. cam slips out of bed, drifts into the room to find lilith’s wings out and draped over the edges of the bed, tears shining on her face from the light in the hall.

& lilith shuddering, lips chapped as if the other side has reached out to her and stolen her breath. cam moving slow though she wants to rush, to run, to be bigger than all of lilith’s lonely deaths. brushing fingers through her hair as lilith sobs - ashamed of it and unashamed because it’s cam, & she’s alive and home & beloved.

asking in a small voice for bea, so cam goes and bea leans a kiss down into ava’s neck. plants another as a new mode of prayer on cam’s cheek. turns on the bedside light next to the single bed and lets lilith’s wing curl around her - softer now, with a down of feathers in gray-speckled white. there, she reads from the book of poems until lilith drifts back to sleep.

she dreams of turning pages, and soft epilogues, and wings

lilith knowing when she's going to break, willingly separating herself from her partners, not wanting to scare them or, god forbid, see that look on ava's face again.

lilith trying so hard to get over the silence of her childhood home, where she could absolutely never cry, to this home that they have made. this home they've fought and bled for. this home where camila strokes through lilith's hair and sings pop songs under her breath. this home where bea will stay up reading poetry to her. this home where ava steals lil's hoodie and curls up with her on the couch the next day and gives "great" ideas for her farm layout. this home where she's loved. where she doesn't have to stifle her sobs.

[womanexile]

https://twitter.com/iamnearlyhome/status/1707510342090191163?t=NWuDLMKdSOaHO7r3JKiDqQ&s=19

This is a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson

He has a poem called The Sphinx.

The Sphinx is drowsy,

The wings are furled;

Her ear is heavy,

She broods on the world.

"Who'll tell me my secret,

The ages have kept?--

I awaited the seer,

While they slumbered and slept;--

"The fate of the man-child;

The meaning of man;

Known fruit of the unknown;

Daedalian plan;

Out of sleeping a waking,

Out of waking a sleep;

Life death overtaking;

Deep underneath deep?

"Erect as a sunbeam,

Upspringeth the palm;

The elephant browses,

Undaunted and calm;

In beautiful motion

The thrush plies his wings;

Kind leaves of his covert,

Your silence he sings.

"The waves, unashamed,

In difference sweet,

Play glad with the breezes,

Old playfellows meet;

The journeying atoms,

Primordial wholes,

Firmly draw, firmly drive,

By their animate poles.

"Sea, earth, air, sound, silence,

Plant, quadruped, bird,

By one music enchanted,

One deity stirred,--

Each the other adorning,

Accompany still;

Night veileth the morning,

The vapor the hill.

"The babe by its mother

Lies bathed in joy;

Glide its hours uncounted,--

The sun is its toy;

Shines the peace of all being,

Without cloud, in its eyes;

And the sum of the world

In soft miniature lies.

"But man crouches and blushes,

Absconds and conceals;

He creepeth and peepeth,

He palters and steals;

Infirm, melancholy,

Jealous glancing around,

An oaf, an accomplice,

He poisons the ground.

"Outspoke the great mother,

Beholding his fear;--

At the sound of her accents

Cold shuddered the sphere:--

'Who has drugged my boy's cup?

Who has mixed my boy's bread?

Who, with sadness and madness,

Has turned the man-child's head?'"

I heard a poet answer,

Aloud and cheerfully,

"Say on, sweet Sphinx! thy dirges

Are pleasant songs to me.

Deep love lieth under

These pictures of time;

They fad in the light of

Their meaning sublime.

"The fiend that man harries

Is love of the Best;

Yawns the pit of the Dragon,

Lit by rays from the Blest.

The Lethe of nature

Can't trace him again,

Whose soul sees the perfect,

Which his eyes seek in vain.

"Profounder, profounder,

Man's spirit must dive;

To his aye-rolling orbit

No goal will arrive;

The heavens that now draw him

With sweetness untold,

Once found,--for new heavens

He spurneth the old.

"Pride ruined the angels,

Their shame them restores;

And the joy that is sweetest

Lurks in stings of remorse.

Have I a lover

Who is noble and free?--

I would he were nobler

Than to love me.

"Eterne alternation

Now follows, now flied;

And under pain, pleasure,--

Under pleasure, pain lies.

Love works at the centre,

Heart-heaving alway;

Forth speed the strong pulses

To the borders of day.

"Dull Sphinx, Jove keep thy five wits!

Thy sight is growing blear;

Rue, myrrh, and cummin for the Sphinx--

Her muddy eyes to clear!"--

The old Sphinx bit her thick lip,--

Said, "Who taught thee me to name?

I am thy spirit, yoke-fellow,

Of thine eye I am eyebeam.

"Thou art the unanswered question;

Couldst see they proper eye,

Alway it asketh, asketh;

And each answer is a lie.

So take thy quest through nature,

It through thousand natures ply;

Ask on, thou clothed eternity;

Time is the false reply."

Uprose the merry Sphinx,

And crouched no more in stone;

She melted into purple cloud,

She silvered in the moon;

She spired into a yellow flame;

She flowered in blossoms red;

She flowed into a foaming wave;

She stood Monadnoc's head.

Through a thousand voices

Spoke the universal dame:

"Who telleth one of my meanings,

Is master of all I am."

[xspilltheteapleasex]

Life Is In The Souls of Birds

A Poem by xspilltheteapleasex

My Main Masterlist

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶

My Poetry & Art Masterlist

A day as ordinary as any other can be full of beautiful and curious little things,

Moments that bring joy and peace like this one can be remembered for a lifetime,

But it only takes a second for things to change and fade away, no matter how hard you cling,

Everything will have its chance at life and its chance to pass at the right time.

Anyone can do anything, and anyone can take away the chance for something,

Maybe the chance at blossoming into a beautiful flower or the chance for dedication to commit,

Taking away a moment of joy and peace leading to destroying the beauty of life like a bombing,

So I think it would be best, yes, very much so,

It would be best if you put that back where you found it.

A little birdie with its black feathers sleek and smooth,

Glistening under the sun with little sparkles every time it turns his head,

The knight in shining armor adorning a vibrant red splotch with meaning of sleuth,

Jumping along the many tree branches of his mighty kingdom bred.

Birdies that twitter and flutter about with a song in their mouths,

All of this can be taking away if you steal their wings and souls,

No care in the world, they didn't ask for this, can you at least put them in the ground,

You shouldn’t be in charge of what jewels your body, for only God is at the controls.

Those many tree branches belong to a fortress of solitude,

A tree who upholds the very breath of every living thing we call life,

Weaving roots throughout the earth that no one can allude,

Whom some call home, a place to escape the fear of strife.

Billions upon billions of fortresses are destroyed each year,

No one gives another thought to saving their much needed lives,

Am I the only one seeing how our situation is this horrific and severe,

Can we not just follow the will our God gave us to abide?

Geese fly overhead of all the forest and under the misty clouds,

Loud as can be to announce their grateful presence,

They never break formation and they never stop making sound,

One day they will leave again, but I know they will once again show their luminescence.

Pillows are what I use to lower my head and have magnificent dreams of love,

Cushioning cotton or memory foam will do just fine for me to close my eyes,

So why do we need the best pillow that leave geese in cold blood,

God made these noble creatures for our kind to take care of with our hearts.

The wondrous lake is where the geese lay the wings and take a rest,

Making ever so little creases in this body of water and leaving behind traces of beautiful down,

Basking in the vigorous fountain of never ending droplets which it has expressed,

Our beautiful lake is my queen with a solid rim atop her head as a glorious crown.

Water is the something that every living thing needs in his temple of a body,

It provides an oasis for creatures and plants alike,

Yet we still feel the need to dump our garbage into the sea and turn it snotty,

Polluting the quality, which makes for a great realization of your throat being hit with a spike.

A rim holds place for little children to rest their little feet and have some fun and play,

Pitter-patter on the rim of rocks holding the foundation for centuries,

Just an excuse needed only for me to gaze upon such beauty of life, whom am I to say,

Rocks can be eroded with time, but etched forever are our wonderful memories.

Smoke and ashes rise above our children heads and strikes fear into their eyes,

Take care of your children and hold them tight as can be,

Your neighbor just started a fire that grows and grows as implied,

It started from his mouth but spread into the size of the northern sea.

My gaze is interrupted by an alarming siren warning of swiftness,

Quick must the siren's owner reach the fearful destination,

Praying with my hand and in my heart, with hope this lifts us,

God, oh please, please God, please help those of your own creation.

Taking the wings and soul of a little birdie is taking a life,

Chopping billions of trees is destroying the earth's fortress,

Starting fires in your mouths and littering them to the ground is the same as a thousand knives,

Can't you just stop for once, leave it, and support us?

Anyone can do anything, and anyone can take away the chance for something,

Maybe the chance at blossoming into a beautiful flower or the chance for dedication to commit,

Taking away a moment of joy and peace leading to destroying the beauty of life like a bombing,

So I think it would be best, yes, very much so,

It would be best if you put that back where you found it.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶

[classicschronicles]

Hi lovelies,

You would think that when you finished school you would have an unimaginable amount of free time, it turns out that’s not true. I would know because I’m supposed to be getting ready for prom but i thought i would have time to write an article, and I was very much incorrect. Anyways, instead, I’m going to share a poem by one of my favourite classical poets- Propertius. This is from his works ‘The Elegies’.

Book II.3:1-54

You who said that nothing could touch you now, you’re caught: that pride of yours is fallen! You can hardly find rest for a single month, poor thing, and now there’ll be another disgraceful book about you.

I tried whether a fish could live on dry sand it has never known before, or a savage wild boar in the sea, or whether I could keep stern studies’ watch by night: love is deferred but never destroyed.

It was not her face, bright as it is, that won me (lilies are not more white than my lady; as if Maeotic snows contended with the reds of Spain, or rose-petals swam in purest milk) nor her hair, ordered, flowing down her smooth neck, nor her eyes, twin fires, that are my starlight, nor the girl shining in Arabian silk (I am no lover flattering for nothing): but how beautifully she dances when the wine is set aside, like Ariadnetaking the lead among the ecstatic cries of the Maenads, and how when she sets herself to sing in the Sapphic style, she plays with the skill of Aganippe’s lyre, and joins her verse to that of ancient Corinna, and thinks Erinna’s songs inferior to her own.

When you were born, mea vita, did Love, dressed in white, not sneeze a clear omen for you, in your first hours of daylight? The gods granted you these heavenly gifts: in case you think your mother gave them to you: such gifts beyond the human are not inborn: these graces were not a nine-month creation. You are born to be the unique glory of Roman girls: you’ll be the first Roman girl to sleep with Jove, and never visit mortal beds amongst us. The beauty of Helen returns a second time to Earth.

Why should I marvel now that our youths are on fire with her? It would have been more glorious for you, Troy, to have perished because of this. I used to marvel a girl could have caused so mighty a war, Asia versus Europe at Pergama. But Paris, and Menelaus, you were wise, Menelaus demanding her return, Paris slow to reply. That face was something: that even Achilles died for: even to Priam a proven cause for war. If any man wants to outdo the fame of ancient paintings, let him take my lady as model for his art: If he shows her to the East, to the West, he’ll inflame the West, and inflame the East.

At least let me keep within bounds! Or if it should be a further love comes to me, let it be fiercer and let me die. Just as the ox at first rejects the plough, but later accepts the yoke and goes quiet to the fields, so spirited youth frets at first, in love, but takes the rough with the smooth later, tamed. Melampus the prophet, accepted shame in chains, convicted of stealing Iphiclus’s cattle, but Pero’s great beauty drove him not profit, she his bride to be in Amythaons’ house.

I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did, and I hope you all have a lovely week <3

~Z

[libidomechanica]

“Both her children”

From the Night come as with their     education, harsh or mild, who with his hand of snow; even     that her? Of no great bounds,

like a mer-creature, give it time     but that it should brook but my eyes I loved? The drugs that the     feet and though ever than

I shall no more, oh, never fairy     charities, a patron of it, the aëreal eyes sent     her on a cheek—from a

bluff the lamp at thy face; but lies,     as dead! As the sensual for these hills, dales, or pieces     shines, even asleep, and

her fail in town; for I was not     to be so dirty was boundless lies nor equal, now and     there can’t gaze open thee

this is she!—For the West, the world     and cheeks dry,—a creates across the fan be my Nell! That     wadna open first to

the sons of fashion, as few would     be told you wrought it’s gonna be all my time come to keep     the Dark away. One end

he turns to hate or else almighty     will. And liquid rest of her Moon and flying love; then     of fame. That see my loves

I have had, a light to your living     spirit beauty is, no come to child. A little flockings,     to yield thyself only.

’ Man was happy to her a     round, and every Existence worse essays prove, and out the     anchored. The song but she

died. Then love’s pride, stealing up the     way, pursu’d, like a better foreheads drawn from greatly blamed     as obstinacy, both

in your affairs come hame. Cried, and     keeps through every things about the field of life is passions,     poems! We’re out its

Secretive, she, of succeed; but some     unseen they have stateliest, to hurt me more far as the     gude enough for call’d on

Nelly Gray! Both her children nurse     in my youth, and I sank upon my second toe a little     throng! Over my little

glittered there cameras want to     say the shepheards God perdie God with a human soul! To creeping     out of lids and owlets

builders in sad experience     mought me to spy or see; why do you dearer wheel. Like     hues all one, there the road.

[cashthecomposer]

I love this! I thought I'd respond with my own thoughts about each of the ten points, from my personal experience with my current show.

Collaboration is not my thing, lol. I tried it four times. The first time, the levels of interest were just too varied for it to work; the second, we had two completely different ideas, and the distribution of labor was absurd; the third, I felt shut down at every turn; the fourth, everything went splendidly, until the other person got a better offer from somebody else. I then finally tried to write something by myself, and for the first time, every element was strong, and it worked. Funnily enough, this was only because of those previous failures, where I had learned to do everything in parts, that I was able to pull it all together.

My musical is about the summer of 1816 at the Villa Diodati, when Mary Shelley composed Frankenstein, and all of the stories and drama that went down. But that's not what the musical is about. It's about writing stories, creation, and the sacrifices that go into it. Everything else I'd tried in the past was not nearly so effective and whole in its intent, so this flowed out of me incredibly easily in comparison.

I outline everything I do, down to the structure of how I approach each song, lmao. An outline is SO helpful, particularly because it helps you prevent obvious pacing issues from the start.

"Why a musical" is a question that I can't give a satisfactory answer to, except that my proof of concept, well, proves the concept!

My songwriting process is nonexistent. One song, I wrote the lyrical structure after a Percy Shelley poem, and plunked around on the piano to figure out an accompaniment. Another, I sang into a voice recorder app while driving home from the grocery store just off the top of my head, and pulled some Faure inspo for the accompaniment. Yet another, I wrote the music without words in its entirety, and it didn't actually have words until the second draft of the book. No two songs are crafted alike, and somehow it works for me.

I listen to a lot of classical (my current rotation is Faure, Debussy, Ravel, Satie), The Mountain Goats, and musicals. I'm also a professional musician, so I've got work songs on my roster as well, from gig songs, to those I teach. All in all, my tastes are fairly narrow, but hey, it's what inspires me.

'Good composers write, great composers steal' was something my professor in college used to say. Also, 'write drunk, edit sober'. Taking inspiration from other works is great, but I would take it a step further and do some real score study. Following the guide put forth by Elizabeth Green in her book about conducting as a starting point, you can really enlighten yourself on so much.

I got so close to my show that at a certain point, I didn't realize that no one had a clue when anything was happening, or where. My director came to the show with fresh eyes and made a simple suggestion that quickly resolved what could have been months of headache. I have since taken numerous brief (1-2 week) breaks from the show, in order to approach it with a more rounded perspective, but nothing beats just asking folks to tell you what they think.

Yeah. Nothing to add.

After my show was read through in its entirety for the very first time, my cast only had good things to say. Literally nothing negative. I told them I wanted to hear all of the negative things, and they relented... and every negative point was just something that *wasn't* in the show. Nothing bad about anything I'd written, only that they wanted more. More screentime for Claire. Another song that lets them be silly. More pretentious AF dialogue. More ensemble stuff. I was so afraid that they would pick apart a lot of things that I didn't think were good enough, I had held back on a lot of things that needed to be exploited and showed off for all they were worth. That was honestly an enlightening experience!

10 tips for musical theater writing!

We've been getting asks about musical theater writing and thought it might be helpful to share some things we've learned from our writing process that've made our lives easier. DISCLAIMER: we are by no means experts in writing musicals! These are just things that've worked for us!

(Some great resources we'd recommend are Finishing The Hat and Look, I Made A Hat by Stephen Sondheim for good jumping-off books by an amazing lyricist, or websites like https://www.musicals101.com/write.htm (they have a good explanation of song forms here: https://www.musicals101.com/score.htm that cover the basics of musical forms, etc.) To chat with people more experienced than us, we'd recommend visiting https://www.reddit.com/r/musicalwriting/)

Here are our tips:

Collaborate! In professional musical theater, there are three writing roles: lyricist, who writes the words for the songs, bookwriter, who writes the words in the scenes, and composer, who writes the music for the piece. People can be any combination of the three- for example, Mel is a lyricist/bookwriter but Elliot is a composer/lyricist/bookwriter. You can also take on different roles on different projects! You don't have to choose which one you are Right Now, but writing a show is a lot easier if you have one or more collaborators. One of the most common mistakes I see in aspiring musical theater is trying to do too many at once -- people who are awesome composers but mediocre lyricists, or people who are great lyricists but their music is all over the place -- which can kill interest in a project before it even begins. Theatre will always be a collaborative art form, so try to find people you can create your best work with!

Choose a topic you have something important to say about. Something you feel like nobody else has said before, or something you think you personally can say in a new way. Our writing process for both TAOPP and Adamandi was to begin with some big ideas that we had something important to say about- for TAOPP, we talked about the transformative experience of falling in love, and for Adamandi, we talked about the ways that dark academia idealizes an unhealthy independence, and doesn't often include queer students or students of color. We choose a set of characters that allows us to have an interesting group of perspectives on that central idea.

Outline! Once we know who is in it, we write a rough outline of the show, deciding where scenes and songs are, though this outline often changes throughout the process (for example, at this stage in the Adamandi process, we knew how Act I would end, but initially Litany of the Martyrs was in the middle of Act I instead of Act II). Outlining is especially important for musicals, because you want it to be as solid as possible before you start writing. It sucks when shifting around the plot or cutting characters means scrapping great songs you've written too soon.

Know why you want this to be a musical! Why not a book or a screenplay or a concert or song cycle? What is it about the musical form that makes you excited to tell the story through it, and how will live theater help you tell this story? If you're new to musical writing, make sure you aren't actually writing a play with music. In a musical, the songs should move the story forward, help characters reach realizations and show new depths of character, etc. Musical songs should start at a point A and end at a very different point B. If you take out all the songs you've got planned in your show, are there huge holes in the plot or does everything still make sense? If everything still makes sense, maybe you don't want to write a musical.

Find a songwriting process that works for you! We tend to write lyrics-first, so Mel will write all the words to a song for Elliot to "set", or compose a tune for. After Elliot has a melody, he finds chords for the melody and builds the accompaniment from there. Another way you can write (especially if you are a composer more versed in instrumental music) is to start music first -- finding a fun melody or a fun chord progression and then building the rest from there. Songwriting is like filling in a puzzle. Elliot goes through many iterations of melodies and chords before settling on a melody he likes. When he finds a good melody, he'll record a little voice memo of it but revisit it later to see if it still holds up before building upon it. It's okay if something stumps you a little! Songwriting is usually a collaborative process; we edit each others' lyrics and talk about musical moments and the tone/feel of a song. We make sure we're on the same page with Mel reading out the lyrics of a song before Elliot sets it, so Elliot gets a sense of where Mel's rhythmic instincts for the song lie.

WATCH, READ, & LISTEN TO LOTS OF THINGS (especially musicals!) Make fun little bootleg movie nights out of it! You can learn a lot about what you want to create by seeing what's out there! Find things you enjoyed in shows you disliked, or things you disliked in shows you liked, and think about why. This will also help you learn about song forms, musical structures that work, etc.!

Similarly, use a shared musical vocabulary as inspiration! If you're a composer and don't know where to start, discuss the vibe of the song you are about to write with your lyricists (genre, similar songs, etc.) Find a playlist with similar songs -- doo-wop songs, swing music from the '30s, or the discographies of artists you like -- and just listen to them for a while. Try to pick apart things that the songs have in common, or things you like from certain songs -- is it a certain song structure? Is it three-part vocal harmonies? Is it a certain combination of instruments? There are also lots of great resources on YouTube/online about what characterizes certain kinds of music. What are common chord progressions in the genre? Is there a rhythm or time signature that characterizes the genre (as is often the case with dances, like tangos or waltzes etc.)? Then try out what you liked from the research and play around with it!

Make it understandable! A musical isn't a novel or an album -- typically, the audience watching it can't reread a page or replay the song. They're watching and listening live, and you have to make sure they understand all the information! When it comes to songwriting, make sure you are setting your lyrics in a comprehensible way. Try reading out your lyrics before setting them at all, so you note where you naturally emphasize words (e.g., we pronounce the word MU-sical, not mu-SIC-al or musi-CAL). Once you have this for reference, recreate this natural rhythm to the best of your ability in your melody! It will help people understand your lyrics better. You want folks to understand as many words as possible on the first listen! (E.g., if someone's singing really quickly and then sing the word musical as mu-SIC-al, people very well might easily mistake it for another set of words entirely, 'cause their brains are not used to the word being said like that!) Similarly, you want to watch out for the amount of syllables you're putting in each line. If two lines sound similar melodically but one has a couple extra syllables in there, chances are it's gonna get squashed rhythmically and become word mush. Fixing this means revisiting your lyrics and cutting some/rephrasing them, which is a natural part of the process!

Finish it! Whatever else you have to do to get to the end of it, it's so important to have a complete project to see how your storytelling works and where it can be improved. A great thing about writing musicals is how often they can be revised -- you'll get feedback, or grow as a writer, and end up wanting to revamp it, which is fine! Look at the difference between Broadway shows and productions of the same shows before Broadway. Or you'll move onto a different project with the skills you acquired from this one -- either way, you have a show's worth of experience under your belt. :)

Be open to criticism, but form your own opinions based on many audience reactions, not just one person's critique. Have readings of your show for your friends, or host a talkback after your performances!

[stardewremixed]

Random headcanon...

Elliott tries reading tarot from time to time, especially on moody rainy days. Helps him feel inspired to write.

Sometimes Sam gets on Seb's nerves, but when Sebastian is depressed, Sam knows not to push or talk a mile a minute. He turns off the lights and sits quietly in the dark with Seb, playing video games or watching tv, eating pizza poppers and throwing back colas. Neither needs to say a word. He's just there for his friend.

Alex is not a good swimmer. He's embarrassed about it too. It's why he goes to the spa at odd hours to practice.

Penny would absolutely be Velma from Scooby-Doo for Spooky Day. But Maru would, of course, insist to be the nerdy glasses girl. So Penny would sacrifice and cosplay Daphne instead for the sake of her friend.

Leah isn't a great writer like Elliott, but sometimes she likes to doodles little poems about woodland creatures.

Seb is not a morning person. But every once in awhile, he gets up and drags himself upstairs to drink coffee with his mom before anyone else is awake.

Harvey considered starting a health podcast. He even recorded a few sessions. Abigail wrote a nice relaxing flute tune for him. But he was a bit shy about releasing them so the tapes lie collecting dust.

Alex once asked Elliott for piano lessons so he could surprise his granny for her birthday. He brought some of Evelyn's world famous homemade cookies in exchange. And Elliott asked for workout tips (secretly to impress the farmer).

After therapy, Shane decided to learn how to make root beer. It's a better alternative to alcohol and it's a fun hobby in his spare time. He enjoys churning homemade vanilla ice cream too, made from the cream from Marnie's cows. Root beer floats are a great treat on a hot summer day! Maybe Alex will even sell it at his ice cream stand next year.

Haley would absolutely hang mistletoe during the holidays, hoping to steal a smooch from an eligible bachelor. She has a series of wintery lip glosses with sweet names like warm cinnamon bun, sugar and spice kiss, cranberry orange muffin, and candy cane delight.

Emily learned to sew at a young age. She used to cut hearts and diamonds and shamrocks in her pants, much to her mom's dismay. She also would play dress up frequently, composing songs, poems, and plays for herself and Haley. To this day, she still makes many of her own clothes.

[number-onekidqueen]

𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 - 𝙺𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚊

Isadora Quagmire x Klaus Baudelaire

Fluff

Warnings: none, let me know if you think there are though.

I inhaled a gust of stale air as I surveyed my surroundings and began walking, my footsteps bouncing off walls.

I was back in the V.F.D tunnels, where everything had started. For my parents, my brother, everyone. It felt so, well, intruding to be somewhere so silent.

Even as a V.F.D member, using the tunnels so frequently, every time I entered them, I was still surprised by the smell and the sheer silence of the atmosphere. It was like something I could never adjust to.

Perhaps it was because I hated the tunnels.

My literary mind thrives on motivation, and down in the tunnels I can't get any ideas or jabs of imagination to begin a poem.

All there is is darkness, and it is highly frustrating. Everything seemed so straightforward and ordinary, like nothing could be added to make it more interesting or nothing remarkable could happen in these dusty walls.

But my thoughts proved to be incredibly wrong.

To distract myself from my growing lack of comfort from the dim, flickering lights and dark, ominous stains on walls, I reminded myself of my task. 

I had to sneak into Prufrock Prep and steal the files of the detailed history of V.F.D, for V.F.D itself to gain a better understanding.

Well when I say V.F.D, I specify Quigley, Duncan and I as we are the last known and active field agents. The rest are uncertain, missing or dead. 

I spotted the sign marked Prufrock Prep and began ascending the rust-stained ladder, brainstorming how I could hide and smuggle the files out of Nero's office, or whoever is the Vice-Principal at present. 

As the trapdoor opened with a quiet creak, I rolled back the rug, and after a cautionary scan of the room, I crawled out onto the hard, scratchy carpet. I got to my feet and began walking to the filing cabinet. Rummaging through files, I found the folder I was searching for.

"Bingo." I muttered to myself.

"Of all people, I didn't think I would see you here, Isadora."

I nearly dropped the file, then stood, frozen on the spot, my heart pounding. 

It wasn't the nasal voice of Nero, the voice I expected. It was much different. 

It was a voice that pronounced every syllable correctly, a much softer voice, with a much more familiar tone to it.

The voice of Klaus Baudelaire.

"Klaus?" I said hopefully, turning on my heel.

And there he was, with his knitted sweater, collared shirt, ruffled brown hair, crooked glasses and heartfelt smile.

Just as he always looked. My heart sparkled a bit.

I beamed at him with the entirety of my world of euphoria upon seeing him.

"Klaus!" I yelled, dropping the file and charging for him, tackling him in a tight embrace.

"Issy! Oh, it's been a millennia!" He exclaimed returning the embrace, just as fiercely.

"I agree." I replied.

Finally we parted, and our foreheads creased together. 

"Where have you been?!" We cried at each other in unison.

We both reddened. 

"I was escaping the Great Unknown, then sorting out a few secret missions for V.F.D." I recounted.

"We were getting off the island where the possible creator of V.F.D, Ishmael, dwelled. Then we were completing missions for V.F.D, too. Though, why wouldn't we have crossed paths earlier? Odd." Klaus mused. 

I pondered the thought, frowning.

"That is rather strange." I replied.

Klaus brushed the thought off.

"Are you all safe though? How are Quigley and Duncan?" Klaus asked.

I rolled my eyes at the thought.

"Oh, well, Duncan was partnered with a certain auburn haired girl, we know as Miss Carmelita Spats for a mission. If she even deserves the title miss," I began.

Klaus scoffed.

"How's he coping with that?"

"Brilliantly actually. Last report I heard, Duncan is intent on changing her title to Mrs. Carmelita Quagmire." I said in light disgust.

Klaus spluttered repeatedly.

"What? What?! Carmelita? Carmelita?! The girl who sings her name at the end of every irritating and non-rhyming song?! Are you sure?! Really?! My goodness, what has this world come too?" Klaus exclaimed indignantly.

"My response was the same. Only Quigley remained unaffected because he believes everyone deserves a second chance. Utter nonsense. He's never met her." I replied grimly.

Klaus blinked the disbelief and horror out of his face, before changing the subject.

"How's-"

"Shh!" I whispered wheeling around at the sound of footsteps. They were headed towards us. I picked up the file and ran to the rug in the centre of the room.

Tossing the corner up, I unlatched the trap door and scurried down the ladder.

"Come on Klaus!" I whisper-screamed at his awkwardly-positioned silhouette hovering above me.

Quickly he hurried down the ladder, and rolled the rug back over the trap door. The trap door clicked shut just as footsteps began to pound above us.

Panting, we looked at each other and smiled.

"So, how's-"

I don't know what fuelled me to do it. Maybe, being in danger stirred my old feelings. Maybe the way he looked at me with admiration and happiness, just kickstarted my heart. Who knows, maybe I was just being a pubescent teenager. Whatever the reason, something inside me clicked. 

"I've missed you Klaus." I whispered, nearing him.

"Me too." 

Before I knew it, I instinctively threw my arms around him and kissed him. 

As our lips met, static electricity coursed through my veins, making me giddy. I felt starbursts of golden elation, flickers of surprise and tingles of excitement.

When we finally pulled apart I don't know what happened to me either.

Maybe I was confused with my numerous, overwhelming emotions. Maybe my first kiss provided me with weird side affects. Perhaps I just wanted to be humorous.

I guess I'll never find out. Anyway, the moment our lips parted I burst into laughter, alongside Klaus.

We laughed the merriment out of our souls, the joyous sound echoing along the tunnel walls.

It seemed a foreign sound to me at first, but slowly the sound became familiar, until I was only focused on the shaking of my lips and the warm tears of mirth, slipping down my cheeks.

After what seemed a euphoric eternity, our laughter ceased.

I beamed again at Klaus.

Then I felt cold panic rise through me.

Was this the end? Were we going to have to split ways again? Was I going to lose him? I couldn't!

"Oh Klaus, come with me." I whispered longingly to him.

"How could I refuse?" He teased, before he grinned, "I was about to suggest the same."

I beamed as our warm fingers tangled, and we began to walk back to V.F.D headquarters and begin a conversation of all the things we had done since we parted.

 As the lights flickered, we held each other, laughing at jokes we made and smiling and blushing at descriptive compliments we voiced.

And as I enjoyed this moment, I realised something.

How good it was to be "we" again.

[raeynbowboi]

Building an Embodiment of the Fairytale Princess (2.0)

This is nothing new. I’ve done this build before, which I’ll link right [here]. The post did really well, and people seemed to love the concept. However, since then, Mythic Odysseys of Theros and Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything have both come out, bringing with them not only new subclasses, but new features, spells, mechanics, and elements that I couldn’t take into consideration the first time around. So, I decided that rather than just adding a tag on post like I did before, I’d just remake the build with the new features being taken into consideration. Like before, the focus of the build is to create an embodiment of the generic fairytale princess and not any one particular character. So without further ado, let’s get into it.

Like before, we’ll be choosing Variant Human for our race of choice. We’ll channel Sleeping Beauty to be gifted by the fey with blessings of Beauty, Grace, and Song for +1 CHA, +1 DEX, and Performance proficiency. We also get a bonus feat, and thanks to Tasha’s, we can now take Fey Blessed for +1 CHA. However, if she doesn’t cast with Charisma, then substitute those CHA bonuses with Wisdom instead.

The generic fairytale princess is a maid of purest heart, so we’re Lawful Good. But for your more rebellious princesses, Neutral Good or Chaotic Good are also valid.

Background is obviously Noble for proficiency with History and Persuasion.

CLASSES & SUBCLASSES

BARD

This one seems pretty obvious. Bards love to sing and dance, like your stereotypical princess. Because Charisma is their top stat, and they have expertise, it can make them great negotiators, and allow them to excel in dialogue interactions.

GLAMOUR

This college is very fitting for a fairytale princess, as it is focused on making oneself as beautiful and charming as the Fairest of Them All.

LORE 

Lore bards share information, whether they tell stories, recite plays, share philosophy, or spread juicy gossip, the Lore Bard gets more magical secrets, and added expertise to make your princess an even bigger Mary Sue. In actual medieval history, princesses often learned to play instruments and sing, recite prayers or poems, or tell stories to visiting guests, and it was considered a part of her education and duty to do so.

CLERIC

While not every princess is a devout religious girl, their stories tend to be set in the medieval period when a good princess would have been expected to be chaste and pious. So on that front, worshiping a good deity would be befitting of such a character.

LIFE

The fairytale princess raises up those they care about, and nothing is more supportive and helpful than keeping your friends on their feet. The Life Cleric turns your princess into a kind soul who weeps for her friends and patches them up after the battle, turning your princess into a useful ally against the wicked witches and dangerous dragons.

LIGHT

Not all Fairytale Princesses are passive or support players. Those who lean toward Light are the princesses who stand as the Big Good of their story and battle the forces of Darkness with the power of the Light. Of the three Cleric options that fit the archetype, this is the best option for being a powerhouse in combat.

PEACE

Don’t get me wrong, I still hate this domain for wearing the skin of the Love Domain we were supposed to get, and you can absolutely still play it that way. How this domain went from Love to Togetherness to Pacifism is beyond me, but it’s a fairly strong subclass. The classic princess archetype is supposed to be gentle and kind, fitting for one who worships a god of mercy and forgiveness. It’s a value often toted as the strongest characterization of the early Disney princesses.

DRUID

My first time building the fairytale princess, I ignored Druid as an option because the wildshaping didn’t really make sense for a fairytale princess, but a lot of the Bardic Magical Secrets were used to steal Druid spells. However, thanks to the optional rules from Tasha’s, Druids can now use their Wildshape to summon fey that take on the shapes of animals instead of turning into the animals themselves, which makes Druid far more viable, as summoning animals is very in-character for a fairytale princess.

DREAMS 

The Circle of Dreams has heavy Fey associations with references to the Summer Court ruled by Titania. It also is strongly focused on healing, and has a very Fairy Tale flavor to it. It’s an especially great option if you want to invoke Sleeping Beauty, as you can cloak your party while you sleep and send messages to people through your dreams.

SHEPHERD

The fairytale princess is strongly associated with animal buddies, and nothing makes better use of that than the Shepherd Druid, which focuses on amassing an army of critters. What’s more, the Unicorn Totem is very fitting, not only because Unicorns only approach maidens with pure hearts, but Shepherds of the Unicorn Totem get empowered healing.

SORCERER

The sorcerer is born with a spark of something special in them, and a lot of fantasy royalty have magical powers that other people in their world lack.

DIVINE SOUL

The princess doesn’t literally have to be the descendant of the gods, as the original name for the subclass was more about being favored by the gods. Still, if you want to lean into the idea of the princess as the Big Good against the Big Bad, then having her be born with the spark of the gods inside her makes for a neat characterization.

WILD MAGIC 

With the new Sorcerer Shards as I’ve come to call them, we were introduced to the Feywild Shard, which was heavily geared toward Wild Magic Sorcerers, which seems to be WoTC’s way of saying that Wild Magic Sorcerers are the fey-linked sorcerous origin, so I’m including it because of our fey connection. 

WARLOCK

This is the only class where there’s exactly one good option, but it’s one that works surprisingly well.

ARCHFEY 

As a Warlock with a Pact of the Chain, your fairytale princess can choose to Find Familiar any cute little animal companion, or a Sprite to be your Fairy Godmother. Or rather, you can sign a pact with your Fairy Godmother, and use your Chain Pact to summon one of her emissaries to help you. The Archfey patron themselves can act as your Fairygodther, granting you and your party boons and aid where they need it.

WARLOCK INVOCATIONS

Agonizing Blast Armor of Shadows Beast Speech Eldritch Mind Eldritch Sight Gift of the Ever-Living Ones Shroud of Shadow Voice of the Chain Master

CHARISMA vs WISDOM

The big split in how you build your princess falls down the line between these two camps. The wise princess works better as a Druid/Cleric, while a charming princess is more of a Bardlock. For me personally, as much as the Cleruid fits the fairytale princess, the stereotype of the princess is usually that she is gullible, naïve, and overly trusting. Insight is a wisdom check, and something the classic princess archetype is usually bad at. Granted, Animal Handling is also Wisdom, but the Bard’s expertise can overrule a low Wisdom score. Think of it like a clash between Princess Zelda from the Legend of Zelda vs Princess Peach from Mario. Princess Zelda is wise and is much more focused on leadership and protecting her kingdom. Peach is more about the pretty dresses and having servants help her. They’re two very different camps on the princess archetype. Ultimately, which one you choose will depend on the type of princess you wish to invoke. The Classic Damsel or the Wise Matriarch.

SIDEKICKS

A new feature added in Tasha’s, sidekicks are secondary characters that can help the party and are basically simplified character builds with fewer bells and whistles. There are three main camps:

Expert. Experts are clever and knowledgeable, be they minstrels, librarians, pickpockets, merchants, or assassins. They can pick proficiency with DEX, INT, or CHA saving throws, and can be proficient or an expert with any five skills of your choice, and humanoids also gain proficiency with light armor, simple weapons, and two tools of your choice.

Spellcaster. Trained in the secrets of the Arcane, be they a priest, a fortuneteller, or a magical creature. They can choose proficiency with INT, WIS, or CHA checks, and can be proficient in Arcana, History, Insight, Investigation, Medicine, Performance, Persuasion, or Religion. They choose a roll to determine their spell list: Mage (Wizard), Healer (Cleric, Druid) or Prodigy (Bard, Warlock). The sidekick has access to the spell list of the classes their role aligns with, as well as casting with that stat.

Warrior. trained fighters, be they a soldier, a city guard, a trained animal, or a hired sword. They can pick proficiency with STR, DEX, or CON saving throws, and their skill options are Acrobatics, Animal Handling, Athletics, Intimidation, Nature, Perception, and Survival. Warriors can pick a fighting style: either Offensive to add +2 to attack and damage rolls, or Defender to impose disadvantage on hitting creatures other than them while within 5 feet of the princess.

Generic Princess Sidekicks

Humanoid Guard Warrior (bodyguard) Humanoid Commoner Expert (handmaiden, governess, etc.) Humanoid Magewright Spellcaster (court mage, or advisor) Any Beast-type Warrior (animal companion)

Fairytale Inspired Sidekicks

Seven Dwarves - Dwarf Warrior Fairy Godmother - Sprite or Pixie Spellcaster Prince Charming - Humanoid Noble Warrior Wicked Witch - Barovian Witch Spellcaster Beast - Gnoll, Jackalwere, Orc, or Troglodyte Warrior Puss in Boots - Awakened Cat or Tabaxi Warrior The Frog Prince - Awakened Frog or Grung Warrior Three Little Pigs - Awakened Pig Expert, Spellcaster, & Warrior Big Bad Wolf - Wolf Warrior or Awakened Wolf Expert Robin Hood - Redbrand Ruffian or Bandit Expert Djinn of the Lamp - Dust, Ice, or Magma Mephit Spellcaster Pinocchio - Giant Stone Statue Warrior White Rabbit - Awakened Rabbit Expert Cheshire Cat - Awakened Cat Expert or Spellcaster

There is no actual limit to the number of sidekicks your character can have, so in theory, your fairytale princess could have an entire posse of talking animals hanging out and helping her.

Skills, Spells, and Features

As a Variant Human, we got Performance proficiency alongside our Fey Touched feat, and as a Noble, we have proficiency with Persuasion and History. For everything else, we’re just looking to be a standard Fairytale Princess. So we should look to be proficient with: Animal Handling, Arcana, Religion, Nature, or Medicine.

BASIC FAIRIES

Dancing Lights Faerie Fire Healing Spirits Spirit Guardians Summon Fey Conjure Woodland Beings Conjure Fey

BASIC PRINCESS THINGS

Animal Friendship Command Heroism Speak With Animals Animal Messenger Calm Emotions Find Steed Warding Bond Zone of Truth Conjure Animals Mord’s Magnificent Mansion

SNOW WHITE

Armor of Agathys Mirror Image Beacon of Hope Aura of Purity Heroes’ Feast

CINDERELLA

Fabricate Creation True Polymorph Wish

SLEEPING BEAUTY

Sleep Phantasmal Killer Dream Wall of Thorns Dream of the Blue Veil

THE LITTLE MERMAID

Charm Person Shatter Suggestion Tidal Wave Compulsion Control Water Dominate Person Maelstrom Control Weather Tsunami Storm of Vengeance

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

Charm Monster Unseen Servant Tiny Servant Animate Objects Awaken Hold Monster Summon Fiend

Last time I built the fairytale princess, I gave her exactly 1 build. 18 levels of glamour bard and 2 levels of Archfey Warlock. But recently I’ve begun to instead put more stock in leaving builds open, showing instead the options that a player has to choose from. So, for this update, I’m not pushing for a specific build. I’ve laid out the appropriate spells, and the types of princesses that a player can strive to emulate with their spell lists. Consider this more of a guide to help you decide how you want to play your fairytale princess.

[blustainedfingertips]

he’s circling stand tall. it’s weird because it’s not at the top even though they opened with it, so it seems like he just made a list of every single song and circled stand tall even though it’s further down the list like “yeah that one’s first” idk I guess that’s just Luke Logic™

Y’ALL NOW OR NEVER WAS ON THE BAND’S SET LIST FOR THEIR ORPHEUM SHOW WHEN THEY PLAYED WITH JULIE I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS

Edit: ok I just noticed this pic is even worse quality than I thought but the quality is better if you click on it. I’ll try to get a better one and then I’ll edit that one in later but I’m sorry it’s so blurry. Luke’s handwriting combined with a terrible picture makes it really illegible

If you look closely you can see it (the “ever” in “never” is the clearest part) but I can’t believe that on the night they thought they were either going to be destroyed or cross over, they played the song they never got a chance to play at the show they never got to do. Like. Wow. Just.

[serenescribbles]

Trust is a Two Way Street Part 8

This was posted yesterday on AO3 and this is me transferring it to Tumblr.

Yet another chapter posted on my phone. I'm coming home tomorrow so I should be posting from my computer again soon.

CW: Talks of loneliness

AO3 | Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 7 | Part 9

一

In the next coming days, life went on for Marinette. She woke up, attended classes, did her homework, went to the gym, went on patrol, and repeated the cycle again and again.

There wasn’t anything different per se from her normal schedule, however, Marinette just couldn’t help but notice the empty gap in her life that needed filling. The gap left by Jason.

Sometimes, almost like coming out of a daze, she would find herself rereading all of Jason’s previous texts, as if that would make the fact that he wasn’t here with her less noticeable.

Other times, she would be either cooking dinner or setting the table and noticing that she’d cooked just enough for two to share, or that she’d set the table for two.

And on some nights, when she’d come home late from the library, Marinette half expected someone to be sitting on her couch, scaring her, asking her why she’d been gone out so late.

Patrol also just wasn’t the same anymore. There would be times when she’d just finished taking out a crook or she busted some huge deal, and then she would turn to talk to someone, only to find no one there.

In short, she was just missing Jason. However, as quickly as Jason had left, Tim had filled that whole quite fast. But, it just wasn’t the same.

With Tim, she was the older sibling. She was the responsible one. She needed to be strong for Tim.

Although Marinette knew Tim tried to support her just as much as she did, there was just some sort of unspoken rule that the older sibling would always be more mature, more understanding, easier to rely on than the younger one.

It was a great responsibility that came along with having a younger sibling. Not that it was bad, or that she hated Tim, it was just, Marinette missed having someone to depend on.

But you may be saying that she could have relied on Dick, but it wasn’t exactly easy reaching out to him, as she found his warm and happy persona a bit too similar to how she used to be, before things ruined her life. Plus, he lived in Blüdhaven, meaning he didn’t come back to Gotham a lot, seeing as he was busy protecting his own city.

There was no way she’d unload all of her troubles onto him and become yet another burden he had to carry. She was better than that. She was fine managing things on her own. Definitely.

However, there would be some nights where the loneliness was just too unbearable, and Marinette couldn’t resist going into Jason’s room and wrapping herself in his sheets, or hugging his pillow, or even stealing a shirt or two from his closet, all to get a whiff of his familiar, grounding scent. But it quickly became apparent that this didn’t always work as the days Jason spent away from her apartment grew bigger, his scent faded faster.

It was then that Marinette remembered an assignment she’d had to do for an art class a long time ago.

For the assignment, she had to describe her life in colors, how she felt every day, how others made her feel, and so on. But all of her descriptions had to be a color. In the end, they were to take all the colors they’d used to describe their life and put them together in some form of art.

Marinette remembered that for Nino, he’d mixed together a couple of beats and added some lyrics from songs that included the colors he’d used to describe his life and then he edited all of it to create a mixtape.

While Alya had taken different clippings from her favorite news’ reports and printed them out onto multicolored paper and glued them together as a collage.

Nathaniel had painted something while Marc wrote a poem using different inks for each word.

Rose had taken some perfume from her vast collection and sprayed them on a piece of paper which she’d also glued different colored flower petals to.

And Mylène had taken the beads she’d put in her hair every day and strung a necklace from them.

When Juleka had presented hers, it was a collection of different shades of black, purple, and dark blue nail polish.

Who knew there were so many?

Anyways, Alix had created a mural with spray paint and Kim created a sort of ball with different scraps from the different swimsuits he’d had over the years.

Max had created a robot friend for Markov using different colored legos and finally, she’d designed a dress out of all the bright and happy and warm colors she’d used to describe her life.

Marinette felt a bit of pride when she remembered the grade she’d gotten on that assignment. 100%. Mr. Monlataing had praised her dress so much that even now, she still blushed just by thinking about it.

Although before, the colors she’d used to describe her life were vibrant, bright, and warm, now, if she were to redo her assignment, they wouldn’t be like that.

Now, the only color that Marinette would use to describe her life would be gray. Dull, boring, utterly normal gray. There was no color to her life. Jason was the one who’d shown her color in the first place. And now that he wasn’t here, it was only natural the color would fade, too.

With a frown on her face as she thought such thoughts, naturally, she was startled when she heard her phone ringing.

Bzzzt. Bzzzt.

Searching far and wide for her phone, Marinette finally gave up and plopped down onto her couch, only to find her vibrating phone stuck in the cushion of it!

Struggling to get it out of that tiny crack, Marinette finally got it out and saw that the Caller ID was Tim.

Picking up the phone call, before she could say anything, Tim said in an urgent tone, “It will happen tomorrow night.”

“What?” she answered back, unintentionally whispering since he was, too.

“Batman, Nightwing, me, we’re going to come visit you tomorrow night. I figured I’d give you a heads up.”

“Really?”

Though she couldn’t see him, Marinette could practically feel Tim nod his head. “Yeah, but I need to go now. I snuck off to call you. If I stay any longer, they’ll begin to suspect me. See you tomorrow.”

“W-wait!” Marinette called after him. But Tim had already hung up.

Slumping down, Marinette lay her phone face up onto the coffee table in front of her and sprawled across her couch.

Pouting to herself, Marinette thought, ‘Stupid Tim! You can’t go dropping bombs like that onto people and just hang up!’

Although she thought that, she was still grateful that Tim had given her a heads up so she wouldn’t be surprised tomorrow night.

“Haah,” sitting up, Marinette ran her fingers through her hair frustratedly and ended up messing it up. She was getting anxious now.

How was she going to sleep now?

Nevertheless, if she wanted to be in her best condition for when she finally met the Bats tomorrow night, then she needed all the sleep she could get.

Standing up from her position on the couch, Marinette put her pink, fuzzy slippers on and trudged all the way to her room, yawning the entire time.

一

This is just a filler chapter so the next should be more exciting…

I'd like to give BTS a special thanks for keeping me focused while posting this! 💜💜💜

[wintersongstress]

What Remains of a Butterfly

Summary: A glimpse into the after; of where you and Arthur find yourselves after the fall of the Van der Linde gang.  

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Tags: fluff, mild mentions of smut

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: a gift for the lovely and kind-hearted @actuallyhansolo​, though this piece was inspired by a prompt I received in my inbox ages ago. I hope you enjoy ♥ Also a big thank you to @the-halo-of-my-memory​ for being the best beta I could ask for :)

1905 — Gallatin, Montana; 

“Try not to squeeze ‘er with your heels, else the horse’ll canter. You wanna grip her sides with your legs,” calls out Arthur from across the front pasture. A little neigh follows, carrying through the heavenly sigh of the breeze whistling down through the forests and into the valley you called home. Thistle and larkspur waver in its wake, flowing and flawing with streaks and splashes of color, and the hum of bumble bees fills the air. The only intrusion to the symphony of nature’s awakening is the occasional creak of dead wood as your seat on the front porch leans, forwards then backwards.

Overhead, a flock of warblers glide across the sky. Their song, a rising whistle, twittering and sweet, melds with the leathered yet honeyed tone of Arthur’s voice. A gentleness he reserved for one special person laces his rough timbre. Your eyes draw away from your knitting needles at the sound, and the sight that greets you warms your heart.

Your daughter Cora sits astride a chestnut pony, the straw hat covering her head askew. From beneath the floppy brim the early morning sunshine warms her cheeks, revealing the determined twist of her mouth as she heeds her father’s instruction. She hangs onto the reins and her hat, her neat braid bouncing as the horse trots in circles in the grass. Autumn’s hooves below her thud the earth softly, her cinnamon tail flicking and catching the gold of the sun all the while.

A long, satisfied breath fills your lungs. The windsong, calm as a seaside, lulls you into a deep state of bliss as you listen to the harmony it inspires in the surrounding land. Your porch chair rocks as you hum a thoughtful melody, stitching together the tight, blue row of a sock while taking in the splendors of the hour.

From a thousand places in the grass, little gems of dew wink back rainbows in the sunrays. Clouds drift seamlessly along the horizon like the verses of a poem, embellishing a sky flushed the color of a ripe peach. The sunlight has breached the distant snow-patched mountain peaks, its golden warmth lifting the mantle of fog settled deep in the green dark shadows of the valley. The wind rises forever and again, breathing life into the lungs of the cottonwood forest and stirring all that lay deep within wide awake. Woodpeckers flit amongst the treetops in their quest for insects, but all around far and near bird song prevails.

Comforted by the gift of your present, you tug free more yarn from the basket beside you. A hummingbird visits the columbines growing along the side of your homestead as you knit, gone in a flash of bronze. You pause at the boon of its appearance, but your eyes distractedly settle across the way.

Arthur leans on the paddock fence with his elbows propped up as he watches over Cora. A cup of coffee steams in his hand. He raises it and takes a sip, and you note with amusement that only three of his fingers fit through the handle. His fingernails are clean and square against the tin.

In all of your time together you never tired of the way the morning light poured over his tall frame. A heavenly gold illuminates the outlines of his arms and shoulders in his cotton white shirt. His sleeves, rolled humbly up to his elbows, display his tanned forearms, and a pair of dark suspenders divide his strong back handsomely. You never ceased to appreciate how lucky you were to have this view daily, and with each day, your love for Arthur and your family grew tenfold.

After a hearty breakfast of pancakes and eggs, Arthur took your daughter out to the horse pasture to learn how to ride—much at her own insistence and prodding. From a young age Cora shared his deep respect for horses and spent time with the ones you kept every day, grooming, feeding, and bonding with them. In the mornings you washed the dishes together, and afterwards, Cora bolted outside eager to start her lesson.

Today Arthur had lingered in the kitchen once the porch door slammed shut behind her and you were at once alone. The tick of the clock on the floral-papered wall was the only sound for a moment, until Arthur withdrew from the table.

You stood before the washing basin, drying a plate with a dish towel and adding it to a stack on the counter when he slipped his arms around you from behind and held you close. All of your quiet thoughts of the arriving day paused. Together, you breathed in. Your eyes closed. No words were needed between you to speak of the content that settled in your hearts then. He had only hummed a deep sound that passed through you, and began to gently sway you in a dance as you both basked warmly in the window. A jar of amber honey on the sill bloomed light, pouring gold like a waterfall. The birds sang—they always sang in this heavenly place—and you tilted your head back against his broad chest. You melted in his arms when his mouth pressed upon yours and it was a long, blind time before he pulled away.

When the kiss ended his forehead softened against your brow, him stealing a moment to remember you like this. He traced his thumb along the curve of your cheek, a sense of deep wonder speaking through his touch, and you sighed your assent.

In the beginning doubts plagued him. Years before when he knelt before you with a ring amidst a meadow of lupines, his hands held the slightest tremble until you took them into your own, guiding the pale stone down your finger and kissing away his uncertainties. He made promises to do right by you, and he kept every one of them.

In time, he came to believe in the second chance life had granted you both. It made it all the more fortuitous that your first child was a girl.

The embrace in the kitchen was one of beyond number. Arthur was a man of few words but many looks, so you understood his silent language of showing thankfulness. From the careful touch of his hands, moving as if to measure and memorize your importance to him, to the curve of his blooming half-smile, his expression voiced an ineffable gratitude and a disbelief that you shared this life together. His devotion never waned, but the encumbrance of the past did, the fetters that once hindered your steps toward freedom breaking when he built this homestead for you. They shattered forever when you first told him you were pregnant, standing on the porch in the twilight, his arms in their favorite place around you.

When the tingle of his kiss dissipated from your lips, your eyes had been slow to open at last.

“What was that one for?” You murmured in the space between you.

His soft, sage green gaze found yours, and the love in his eyes could not be misunderstood or undervalued. As always, your heart melted like the April snows at the warmth that look bloomed in your chest.

“Nothin’. Jus’…all you do is make me happy,” he confessed, following the gentle ways the angle of the sun fell upon your face.

“Oh you.”

With your heart strings plucked, you turned in the circle of his arms to embrace him. You nuzzled your nose along the endearing divot of his and let the softness of his smile melt against yours once more. The tannic scent of oak and pine and the musk of gun oil seeped into your senses, and you let yourself get carried away and intoxicated with his nearness and the rasp of his beard beneath your touch.

Cora’s prompting from outside tethered Arthur to his promise and he broke away from you with a sigh, although his warm hands slid down your hips longingly before departing.

“Real eager, that one is.”

“You better get to it,” you laughed and made to finish putting away the breakfast dishes. The other chores of the household could wait for an hour, you decided, as you made to rejoin them on the porch with your knitting.

Cats lazed about beside you presently, preening and stretching their legs before turning their watchful golden eyes to the high grasses in search of mice. One of them stalks up to Arthur at his post, weaving between his feet and brushing a white tail against his knee with affection. He reaches down and scratches its neck, the cat lifting itself on its feet to meet him halfway.

Doubtlessly he was smiling beneath his hat, as you were. You could only imagine what the sunlight must be doing to the color of his eyes as the sides crinkle with amusement.

Cora’s pony begins to straighten its gait and walks in a line, causing her to squeal with delight from her saddle.

“Daddy! I’m doing it! I’m doing it!”

“There you go! Keep holdin’ the reins, just like that. Lead ‘em to the left and right to steer.”

“Mama! Look!”

Your joy is instant.

“You’re doing wonderful!” You cheer. Cora giggles, her cheeks dimpling from her contagious glee. The bow laced at the end of her braid flutters like a butterfly’s wings as she rides through the pasture gracefully. The image of her with her gingham neckerchief around her throat, sitting proud in the saddle struck you with familiarity. She looked so natural, so at ease; so much like her father.

They mosey along at a steady pace and Arthur laughs under his breath. “Well, look at that. You’re a natural.”

He was always so patient and attentive with Cora, shushing her cries and soothing her when she was a baby, encouraging her every little step as she grew. Long ago you envisioned how great of a father he could be, despite his own uncertainty and the paucity of his self-worth. It took years for him to believe he deserved any of the happiness you found in each other, but he always wanted to protect it, never wanting to lose what mattered most to him.

Dutch abused the protective nature of Arthur’s heart, channeled it for his own gain and allocated it to his benefit. For years he strove to bring pride to his surrogate father, giving his all. But he knew. Arthur knew before it was too late when he was being used. You were the first to confess the hidden fondness you held for him, and it was the push he needed to start thinking for himself. Much as he tried to convince you of his own lowly opinion of himself, you persisted in your beliefs that he was a good man, deserving of happiness. Regardless of whether or not he found it with you.

Moments like this were the ones you wanted to capture and hold. Because reaching this place was worth every pain you endured, every mistake, and every misfortune if it meant it all led to this moment.

A breeze stirs the porch wind chimes. Their soft notes tinkle, joining the songbirds singing the joy of another sunrise. In the warm blanket of the wind the scent of alfalfa chases up your nose. You close your eyes against it, listening to the earth and the skies and the peals of Cora’s laughter. When it settles you open them again, finding Arthur’s gaze fastened to you from across the prairie. Caught, he smiles to himself bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck while his gaze dips to the slight swell of your belly and the pair of baby socks in your lap.

Warmth floods through you at the remembrance of that same smile earlier this morning, when the first blue light of day came and slipped through the gossamer curtains. Thoughts of Arthur’s mouth—soft and warm with sleep against your bare shoulder—tucks your lip behind your teeth and turns your gaze shy under his. But it lingered all the same.

The way he traced your skin with the lightest drag of his fingertips as you laid side by side in the early dawn light. How his touches led to languid kisses along your neck until he reached the spot that always made you sigh, your hands slipping along the lovely angles of his stubbled jaw to get lost in the soft, golden brown strands of his hair. How you let him lay you below him before he settled over you, the bedsheets catching on the small of his back. The roughness of his palms sliding along the delicate lace of your chemise, raising it all until it bunched around your shoulders. Parting your legs and lifting them around his hips, his calloused thumb drifting between—

“I think horsey is getting tired,” Cora announces, and Arthur snaps his attention back to her. You cross your legs and take a deep breath to compose yourself, returning your thoughts to the chaste exercise of knitting.

“Let’s give her a rest, then.”

Cora pulls up on the reins and Autumn yields.

Arthur dumps the remaining dregs of his coffee and leaves the cup on the fence, swinging his way through the paddock gate. In a few minutes he would be leaving for town, a star pinned to his vest and a promise to return before sundown. It made it all the more precious that he spent this time with her.

He lifts Cora off the saddle, his hands swallowing her tiny waist. She yelps with delight as he spins her around once, twice, exclaiming how proud he is and how fast she is growing up. Her braid and her skirts swing around her small frame until Arthur sets her down, squatting down to her level. With a mellow voice he speaks, encouraging her to thank the animal and explaining how important it is to show your horse you respect them. Cora nods. She reaches out and strokes Autumn’s neck, patting it alongside Arthur until she whickers and leans into the girl’s touch. With a grin, Arthur produces a crumbling oat cake from his satchel and Cora obediently holds out the treat. She laughs when a wet tongue tickles her hand.

They begin to lead the horse into the stable and Arthur squeezes her shoulders, telling her how well she did. Their words fade into the barn, indiscernible from where you sit, but your heart swells with contentment and a great rush of affection floods through you.

The gold band of your wedding ring rests coolly against your finger. You admire the smooth facets of the oval stone, the mounted sapphire twinkling in the light, thinking again of the first time you saw it and the pure happiness it brought as you trace its edges. Long ago and far away were the days of turmoil and gloom, for as dark as the past was is how bright your future together became. For you were safe at last, harbored in the arms of one another, thriving under the roof Arthur built where your family could grow. And it was all more than you could ever dream of.

A butterfly alights the roses growing along the trellis on the side of the house. Orange and black wings dance, flitting among unfolded dark pink petals and seeking the golden centers within. From one, to the next, to the next, the butterfly graces each bloom and delivers the promise of a sweeter future from its visit, leaving your world also a little better from its passage through it.